Authors: Susan Vaught
“Losing it.” I sat up. “Bull. Losing it, losing it. Frog farts.”
What time was it? I needed to get dressed.
I’d tried to call Mama Rush a few times during the week, but after she yelled at me for a half hour solid over looking in the box, she wouldn’t talk much and kept telling me she’d see me Saturday. Today. A few times, she didn’t even answer her telephone. I wondered if she was still that mad at me. She probably was. Or maybe she had made up with Romeo man.
Maybe she’ll get married and forget about you
, J.B. said as I got dressed. I ignored him.
You really don’t have anybody left
, he tried again.
“Leza’s nice to me when she’s not hitting. She likes me.”
No. You like her. She’ll never like you back
—
at least not like that
.
I finally found my shoes under the edge of my bed. Dad had changed my shoelaces … to purple? Purple shoelaces. I picked at one of them. It had lots of spring. Purple spring.
“Shoelaces. Spring. Purple. Leza. Frog farts.” I let out a breath and sat down on my bed. Had to get a grip and focus before I went downstairs. Mom might be awake. If Mom was awake, I needed to have good pragmatics. And the scab still hadn’t come off my top lip, so I shouldn’t use any tape because I’d probably pull off the scab and make myself bleed.
Up and forward.
At least my cheek didn’t hurt anymore, and my eye wasn’t so black. More like light blue with a little green. Gross, really, but nobody asked me about it anymore.
Because nobody really looks at you. You’re invisible
.
I shut J.B. out of my mind and picked up my memory book and wrote down a few things.
1. Don’t flip out
.
2. Say the alphabet instead of flipping out
.
3. Don’t break Mom or Dad
.
4. Don’t be a Big Larry
.
When I got downstairs, nobody was at the breakfast table and nothing was cooked. Somebody had left money, though,
right on the counter where I could see it. I put my memory book down beside it so I wouldn’t forget either of them.
For a second, I looked at my shoelaces. Purple shoelaces. Nobody was up. Was that good or bad? Was I glad or not glad? Purple shoelaces.
Stop it. Stop it. Mom might get up. Quit thinking about shoelaces. If you think about shoelaces, you’ll talk about shoelaces.
Did Mom not want to see me? This would be our first chance to really talk, if she’d gotten up. But she probably didn’t want to talk. Dad probably didn’t want to talk, either. If we didn’t talk, how would I ever say I’m sorry enough times? I’d say it as many times as they wanted. I didn’t mean to break them, especially Mom. I didn’t want to break her. I shouldn’t have looked in that box. Maybe Mom should have punched me harder. I shouldn’t have looked in that box.
Shoelaces, the kitchen was quiet.
Wait a minute. Maybe Dad and Mom were sleeping in together. For some reason, that thought didn’t gross me out like it usually did. It seemed kind of nice. Shoelaces.
I went to the refrigerator and got a few slices of turkey and cheese. After I ate those, I ate a banana and some peanuts. Peanuts were always good. As I was washing my hands, Mom came into the kitchen. She was wearing one of her silk gowns and robes, with matching slippers. The robe seemed really big on her. Her hair was neat and fixed, but her face looked all runny and smudged, like she’d slept in her makeup.
She waved at me. “Hey. You’re up early. I left you some money, did you see?”
“Yes, thanks. Peanuts. Oops. Sorry. Just, thanks, okay?” God, I was worse than Ms. Chin, holding my own hands. My weak hand felt like wet, cold rubber. “Sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Mom crossed over to where I was standing and took my hands in hers. Her skin didn’t feel like cold rubber. She picked up a kitchen towel and dried mine off as she said, “I know.”
I nodded, still trying not to think about peanuts or shoelaces. For some reason, I had trouble looking at her. Eye to eye. Face to face. But I had trouble looking. That volcano feeling, the one that made me blow words all over Maylynn-not-Elana, built up in my chest. I wished I had some tape. I didn’t care if it pulled my lips off.
Mom finished drying my hands, put the towel down, and took hold of my fingers again. “I know I got really mad at you, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
No, I’m sorry. I pulled the trigger. I broke you. Trigger. I’m sorry I ruined everything. Tears tried to come out of my eyes and the volcano tried to blow up, but I made myself look at the peanut can and think about cheerleaders. Cheerleaders made me laugh. Laughing made me warm inside. Leza made me warm inside.
Mom … made me nervous.
Especially when she tried to be nice. It was better when she growled at me. I knew what she really wanted, then. What she really thought about me and everything else. Growling was better. No volcano. No spewing words. You’ll only say the wrong thing.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
“Jersey, look at me.” Mom squeezed my fingers.
“Sorry.” Peanuts, peanuts, peanuts, frog farts, cheerleaders. I blinked. Made myself do what she asked me to do. Yeah, she definitely slept in her makeup. Why was I thinking about her makeup? Shoelaces. Big fat purple springy shoelaces. Don’t explode. Trigger. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
Mom sighed. I wondered if she could hear my brain. Shoelaces.
“You don’t need to apologize anymore.” She squeezed my fingers even tighter. I kept looking at her smeared-up face and didn’t say shoelaces or peanuts or anything else out loud. “I’m the one who’s sorry. So, so sorry I hit you. That won’t
ever
happen again, I promise.”
“It’s okay,” I managed. “Peanuts. Sorry.”
Mom didn’t seem to notice the extra word. She just went right on choking my fingers to death and talking. “It’s not okay. I’m the mom. Moms don’t hit their babies like I hit you.”
“Not a baby,” I mumbled. “Sorry.”
Oh, no. She had tears. If she let her tears go, I’d flip out and sob like a little kid. Peanuts. Shoelaces!
I didn’t know what to do. No idea what to say. Pragmatics, Hatch. Yeah, right. Big Larry. Ruiner.
Hoping for the best, I nodded.
Mom smiled.
I wanted to smile back, or run. Both. Peanuts. Shoelaces. I had purple shoelaces. Did she want me to say something else? She looked like she wanted me to say something else, but I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t go sideways. If I tried to talk, I’d be a volcano.
Mom’s smile got a little sad, but she kept it up for a few
seconds. Then she let go of my hands and went to get herself a glass of juice.
I pocketed the money on the counter and picked up the phone to call a cab.
“That’s okay,” Mom said. She downed her orange juice. “I’ll drive you, or your father will. Jersey, I’m proud of you, honey. For … for holding it together as well as you have. And for sticking with Mama Rush, and trying so hard with your friends.”
The telephone rang in my hand. It scared me so bad I dropped it.
Mom grabbed it off the floor, looked to see who was calling, then hit the button and said, “Hello?” And, “Oh, okay. Sure, Mama Rush. I’ll tell him. Yes, I’ll tell him that, too.” She paused and frowned. “And that. You, too. I hope you feel better.”
When she hung up, the first thing out of my mouth was, “Shoelaces. Is something wrong with Mama Rush?”
My head buzzed. I almost couldn’t think enough to listen to Mom’s answer.
“No, not really. Well, yes. She’s at The Palace, but she said she’s come down with the flu and she doesn’t feel like meeting with you today.” Mom sounded worried for me, like I might get all upset.
I was getting all upset. “But she’s okay? She’s really okay, right?”
Mom frowned all over again, then made her expression turn into a smile. “Yes. Settle down. She said to tell you she’s not mad at you anymore.”
“Good. That’s good.” I tried to breathe right.
“You—ah—told her about that box, didn’t you? About the gun?”
The look on Mom’s face was way past weird. I blinked at her, trying not to make mistakes. Probably I’d make one no matter what I said, even though I didn’t really know why. “Yes. Box. Sorry.”
“Do you tell her everything?” Mom crossed her arms. She wasn’t frowning, but she didn’t smile, either.
“Sorry.” I swallowed and blinked. “No. Yes. Sorry.”
Mom shook her head. Sad and mad flickered like candles on her face, then went out. Back to flat and blank. “I miss the Rush family. We used to do a lot of things together. But you and Todd were growing apart—then, well, what happened. Leza was so upset, and Todd. And we spent so much time at the hospitals. After that, it just didn’t seem normal when we talked to them. It didn’t seem normal when we talked to anybody.”
Leza upset. Okay. Leza told me that before. But Todd? Todd upset? Leza
and
Todd upset? Now I really wanted to run. But Mom kept talking.
“Mama Rush said she’s working on fixing some more of your presents, and that you should go to Leza’s track meet. It’s the last one before cross-country starts.”
“Cross-country.” I tried to catch my breath. “Presents.” My hands made fists and I had to make my fingers relax. “Okay, okay.”
“Okay you’ll go to the track meet?” Mom sounded confused. “Or okay about Mama Rush?”
One, two, three, four …
Breathing as best I could, I said, “Okay to both, I guess.”
Mom and Dad both drove me to the track meet. Then they decided to stay.
Shoelaces.
I hope nobody saw me come in with them. I mean, going with my parents was okay, but sort of bad pragmatics. At least I thought it was. Purple shoelaces might be bad pragmatics, too. People kept staring at them while I stood next to the row where Mom and Dad decided to sit. People looked at my shoelaces or my memory book or my scars. Then they quit looking. Mom and Dad didn’t try to make me sit next to them. Shoelaces. That was good.
I saw Todd and his girlfriend, but I didn’t try to sit with them, either. Good, good. No Big Larry at Leza’s track meet. Shoelaces. I needed to talk to Todd, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it without making him mad. Shoelaces. Maybe I’d get a chance soon. Shoelaces. Where was I going to sit?
“Frog farts!” somebody yelled from down by the front bleacher rail.
“Hoochie-mama!”
“Hey, Jersey!”
Four of the lunch cheerleaders were waving at me.
I left my memory book with Mom and Dad and walked down the concrete steps really careful, bad boy, good boy, just like I was supposed to do. Pragmatics. Up and forward. Sitting with cheerleaders wasn’t so bad, even if I had purple shoelaces and no peanuts at all.
They explained that Leza had already been running. She ran early in the morning in heats and things. Now she was running in finals at 400 and 800 meters. Peanuts. The cheerleaders said Leza was getting good and she was best at going the distance, and one day, she’d probably take 1,500 meters, too.
That sounded like a lot of meters to me. It made me think of Algebra problems, but I didn’t talk about Algebra problems. I talked about peanuts and frog farts and stared at the black track and its bright yellow lines and listened to the cheerleaders yell and wave at people and waited for the girls who ran short races to get finished.
What was left of my brain remembered stuff like our track was a 400-meter track, so Leza’s first race would be one time around. I wondered what color shoelaces she’d have in her shoes. Probably not purple. Probably green. All the girls in our school shirts had black shoes with green laces. Not the springy kind like mine. The girls were lots springier than me in other ways, like hopping up and down and stretching.
When did the guys run?
Oh, yeah. After. First girls, then guys. The guys would run later today. I remembered that. And I remembered that seven and a half laps equaled a mile in the eighth lane, and that it took a little over eight laps to make a mile in the first lane. But our track team started using meters instead of miles when they built the new track and this concrete stadium with the metal bleacher seats. I was in eighth grade then, and I didn’t have any stupid-marks.
“You all right, peanut?” one of the cheerleaders asked.
“Don’t call him peanut,” another one said. I never got their names straight. They all wore their hair the same way and their lipstick was the same color and their clothes were different colors but the same style.
“Why not? He says peanut all the time.” The first cheerleader messed up my hair. “Besides, I think it’s cute, like him. He’s our little peanut. Aren’t you, Jersey?”
“Little peanut,” I mumbled. My cheeks got un-cold and turned red. “Shoelaces.”
“There’s Leza,” said the cheerleader who didn’t like calling me peanut. She pointed to one of the tunnels running under the stadium. Three girls in green shirts and green warm-up pants were standing at the opening. All of them were stretching. One of them was definitely Leza.
“Peanut.” It came out like a sigh.
Real fast, I glanced at the cheerleaders. None of them had noticed. A starting horn sounded, and they got busy watching the race. I got busy watching Leza stretch.
Even though she was far away, I could tell how pretty she was. I loved the way the sun made her skin even darker and more perfect. She’d probably think my purple shoelaces were stupid. But maybe not, since she gave me all the different
colors. Still, I thought my purple shoelaces might be stupid. Dad and I needed to throw out some of the colors Leza bought me, but I didn’t want to throw any of them out because Leza gave them to me. Peanuts. Peanut.
Leza crossed the track between races and came closer. I grinned at her and waved, but she didn’t see me. She sat in the grass with some other girls, and they all stretched some more.
Track meets were fun. Why hadn’t I come to more track meets? Shoelaces. Did I have sweat on my face? I wiped my forehead and cheeks with my shirt.
Wet stains on white. Great. I stuffed the front of my shirt down my pants. Sweat was better than stains. Pragmatics, Hatch.